


if we stopped shipping phan

by knlalla



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Reality, Secrets, Shipping, Swearing, fake relationship sorta?, this was supposed to be short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 09:29:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13784619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knlalla/pseuds/knlalla
Summary: what would happen if the entire phandom just...stopped shipping phan?insp bythis postabout not shipping phan for a month cause they'd freak outHappy Valentine's day, phantasizeit!





	if we stopped shipping phan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phantasizeit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantasizeit/gifts).



“ _Phil,_ ” Dan’s voice echoes from the bottom of the staircase as he stomps up, laptop balanced in one hand and face scrunched in a frown. He’s actually trying to _scroll_ while he walks, apparently, and the computer wobbles precariously.

“What? And _what_ are you doing, you’re gonna drop it!” I set my own laptop aside and stand, rushing over to save the poor thing; it’ll surely fall if he keeps up his frustrated clicking. I can’t keep the grin off my face when he grumbles something under his breath, barely a step behind me as I place his computer safely on the coffee table.

“ _Phil_ ,” he whines again, “they just _stopped_!” We both plop down on the sofa at the same time, though Dan apparently feels the need to add a huff and crossed arms to the movement. _What is he on about?_ I lift my eyebrows at him, reaching for my own laptop - we still have a scary amount of tour planning to do, not to mention I’ve got at least _three_ video ideas I need to get to work on.

“Stopped?” I add, already refocused on my screen as my fingers tap away. But he’s obviously annoyed by something, and I’ll hear about it whether I want to or not. 

“Yeah, Phil, they _stopped_!” He lets out an exasperated breath that screams ‘ _how have you not read my mind already?_ ’ and I glance up. His face looks about the way I expected: eyebrows arched up his forehead, lips parted just a bit, eyes wide. He’s even gone so far as to start shaking his head, like how could I _not_ understand what’s got him so bothered.

Before I can ask again - though I _really_ need to get to my emails, the inbox is overflowing - he grabs his laptop from the table and holds it out toward me. It’s open to tumblr, among other pages, and he’s started scrolling through the endless combination of white and blue. It’s too fast for me to read, though I can tell he’s expecting me to somehow figure it out; after a moment, I notice the tag he’s searched: _phan_.

“What, did the shippers do something obscene again?” I lean back with a chuckle - it’s not like we haven’t seen it all. I used to be really bothered by it, as did Dan, but it’s sort of just become a joke in the past few years. Besides, it lets our audience get out their creativity - and some of them are _very_ talented. 

“No, that’s just _it_ , they _stopped_!” Dan’s laptop lands back on the table with a clunk that makes my heart rate speed up, and I huff out a breath. _He really needs to take care of his- wait. Stopped?_

“Stopped?” I ask again, but the fog is starting to clear. “Like, stopped shipping us?” I set my own laptop on the cushion beside me and grab for his again, scrolling through the site more slowly. It’s sparse, full only of some uneventful gifs of our most recent four or five videos - which is saying a lot, since those videos span over a month - and a few comments about a stupid innuendo I’d made. 

No phanfiction. No phanart. No imagines or headcanons or even _insinuations_ that we’re in a relationship - which, to be fair, we _aren’t_ , but this hasn’t happened in... _ever_.

“Are you sure? I mean, what if they just switched to a different tag?” I barely have to glance up before Dan’s scooted over next to me, leaned against my shoulder and clicking over to the next tab he’s already got up. Another of our tags, less common, but equally uneventful in terms of shipping. And the next tab, same thing. He’s even got AO3 and Wattpad up, and it looks like there’ve only been a handful of short one-shots recently, made by self-proclaimed new phandom members.

“None of the big names,” Dan adds, as if reading my mind, “not in nearly a month! What’s going on?” He slumps back, head tilted back so he’s staring at the ceiling, and I watch the movement. 

“I mean…” I trail off, not entirely sure how he’ll react. “Is it such a bad thing, if they’ve stopped? It’s not like our view numbers have gone down,” I note, pulling up our most recent videos just to be sure. _Nope, just about the views we usually get…_ Dan grumbles something beside me, and I give him a questioning hum as I check our tweets as well. _Again, right where we expect…_

“I said _it was fun, though_ ,” Dan mumbles, and I glance over to find him cross-armed and pouting beside me. His cheeks have flushed red, and he won’t meet my gaze; I open my mouth, thinking to respond - _but what do I actually say to that?_ \- when his eyes go wide, and he sits up. Then he’s hitting my arm, as if I’m not already paying attention.

“Phil Phil Phil Phil _Phil_ -” I scoff at him, moving my hand to cover his mouth. I’m not sure why I’m surprised when he licks it, though I pull back with one of the most offended looks I can manage. “Oh, stop it, you baby,” now I get a tilted head, pursed lips, general disapproval. “I have an _idea_ ,” his expression morphs into something mischievous, and I narrow my eyes at him as I wipe my damp palm on my jeans.

“Do I even want to know what you’re up to?” I’m already turning back to my screen - Dan with a plan is rarely a good combination. 

“No, no, it’ll be more authentic if you _don’t_ know,” he’s already standing, grabbing his own laptop and heading back for the stairs. I suppress a sigh, watching his back as he descends out of view. _Whatever this is, it won’t end well._

\---------------------------

I figure it out about fifteen minutes into filming our next gaming video. Fortunately, we stopped doing livestreams, otherwise this would be a complete disaster.

Dan’s leaned heavily against me, though he has more than enough space - “just to make room to cut out the edgy lens a bit more,” he insists. Sometimes I wonder if he’s forgotten that I’ve known him for nine years. 

“Yeah, sure,” I nudge him, but he doesn’t move back, and I purse my lips - it’s not that I mind the contact, but it’s annoying when it’s all for false pretenses, just to give the shippers something to talk about. Especially when he goes so far as to make an actual _joke_ about it.

“We’re not keeping that,” I frown at him, but he glances back with wide eyes and just a hint of a pout, and have I ever really been able to say no to him? _I guess I have - well, that’s more ‘no’ to myself, I guess._ It’s been a _long_ time since I let myself think about us like that. We’re best friends, friends for life, but that’s all. Regardless of what the shippers say. Or want. _Regardless of what I’ve ever wanted._

“Please?” He draws out the vowels, exaggerating his pout, and I relent with a groan. 

“Fine, but you know they’ll notice _something_ is up,” I point out, the game still on pause. This part will have to be cut for sure.

“Well _duh_ ,” an eye roll, “that’s the whole point,” and the game’s unpaused. I find myself once again suppressing a sigh, then turning to grin brightly at the camera. _If we’re putting up facades, then so be it, here’s a facade._

\--------------------------

If I’m being honest, the video doesn’t look _too_ far off from our usual videos - we’re a little closer, a little more touchy, and Dan’s insisted we leave in a few more innuendos than are really appropriate. Hell, Dan’s insisted we leave in a _lot_ that we’d have normally taken out - there’s nothing out of the ordinary, we just don’t usually show _all_ of it. While we’re entirely platonic, we’ve gotten so comfortable with each other that it admittedly _looks_ like we’re actually together half the time - but it’s become an unspoken rule that we take most of that out.

“Do you think it’s enough?” Dan’s hovering over my shoulder as I scrub through a few frames that had looked a little off, trying to focus on what drew my attention to begin with.

“Do you think it’s too much?” I counter, turning to find his face much closer than I’d expected. When he doesn’t move back, and I find myself staring into his eyes for a second too long, I spin back to the screen. _Something about the frames right...here- oh!_

“No, no, wait!” Dan’s hand grabs mine on the mouse, stopping me from cutting out the frame that makes the entire jump-cut noticeably awkward. 

“You can’t be serious,” I turn back to him again, but his lips are set in a hard line and he tugs the mouse from under my hand. “It just looks like bad editing! It doesn’t even _look_ like anything!” I frown, because I _really_ don’t want poorly edited videos as my legacy. 

“No, come on! It’ll look _suspicious_!” His frown has switched to a triumphant grin, assuming he’s already won, and he exports the video before I can stop him. I lean back with a sigh, the chair creaking with the movement, and stare at his outline as he does some final checks of the video; his face is lit from behind by the bright screen as he taps impatiently on the mousepad.

“Do you want to sit?” I offer. He seems set on his goal of posting this ship-bait, so I may as well get started on my own video ideas. We have a lot of work to do in the next month and a half.

“Sure,” his voice is distant; he’s still focused on the screen, and I’m about to stand up when he drops down onto my lap. I let out a grunt, eyes going wide - _surely he’s not-_ “Just practicing,” he mumbles, and there’s a bit of laughter behind it. I can’t focus on anything aside from the back of his head, brown curls still a little new after the stick-straight fringe he’d clung to for so long.

Instead of shoving him off - though I feel like I _should_ \- I lean back, squirming until he’s settled more comfortably on my thighs. I’m watching his actions through a haze, recognizing the motions but feeling a bit floaty. By the time he’s finished and clicked upload, I almost want to sleep. It’s a weirdly comforting thing to have him on my lap.

_That’s what it is,_ I realize the moment he stands - it’s like when we first met. Before we were afraid of what people thought, before we worried about every touch and action. We just did whatever made us comfortable. So if that meant he’d be draped across my lap while watching an anime, then that’s what we did. We haven’t done that in a long time.

My lap feels oddly empty and chilly without him, and I realize after a moment that he must’ve already left the room. 

“Oh, hey,” I jump, hand flying to my heart, when his voice is at the door again. The chair squeaks as I spin toward him. “You’ll tweet that, right? I think it’s your turn,” brown eyes watch me until I manage a nod, though I don’t think I’ve blinked since he stood up. Then he’s gone again.

I sigh heavily, because he’s gone and I can and he won’t be able to ask me why. I don’t really know why.

\-----------------------------

“ _Phi-il_ ,” it’s two syllables this time, so I know I’m about to get an earful. I’d been about to order some takeout, but I set my laptop aside - a two-syllable ‘Phil’ from a whiny Dan requires my full attention.

“What’s happened now?” I ask, though I already have a sneaking suspicion - it’s not something I’d usually do, but I’ve been checking through the tags on tumblr, the comments on our most recent video, _and_ the usual fic sites. Still no shipping posts. 

“They _still_ won’t talk about shipping us!” He lets out an exasperated groan, collapsing onto the sofa beside me. I give him a disappointed sound, since I have no idea what to say. _‘Yeah, I wish they’d ship us’? That would sound weird, but I don’t want to be unsupportive._ Dan can be difficult, sometimes.

I’m expecting him to go on, or maybe for his eyes to light up with some silly plan or other that’ll make them ship us again, _‘no really, for sure this time!_ ’. But he’s silent, one leg tucked under the other that dangles off the sofa and a knee pressed up against my leg. It sparks a thought.

“Hey, want me to turn on something in the background?” He’s already back to frowning at his laptop - if he ever stopped - but I can feel his shrug by my shoulder, so I flip to an anime we’ve seen a thousand times. It feels...like nostalgia, in a distant way. Like looking at nostalgia through green jelly. Or maybe purple jelly - there’s purple jelly, right? 

I’m dragged out of my head when Dan shifts, leaning fully on my shoulder, and I suck in a breath - quietly, through my nose, because I don’t actually want him to move; if I startle him, or make him think he’s done something wrong, he’ll be gone in an instant. 

I dare a glance in his direction, pleased to find he’s focused on the screen in front of him. 

\------------------------------

A few days of this pass, some sort of hybrid between the way things have been for years and the way things were at the beginning, but what surprises me the most is that he’s not said a _word_. Nothing about getting the phans back to shipping, no whining about how they _still_ aren’t - and they aren’t, I’ve checked. He’s totally silent on the matter.

I don’t even know if I should bring it up - I can very easily see him laughing off the whole attempt as a joke, or a symptom of his ever-present need for drama, or just outright deciding it’d been a stupid idea and he shouldn’t have even bothered with it. Would he rather I just forget? He’s like that, sometimes - too embarrassed to bring something up when he’s decided it was cringey. Flustered Dan is cute, but not worth the awkwardness.

_Cute?_ I frown at the screen in front of me - and I swear, I’m _always_ staring at a screen lately, there’s just _so much to do_. But it’s been ages since I last thought of Dan like that, at least consciously. Was that conscious? Did that count? Besides, I’m allowed to call him cute, it doesn’t have to mean anything. ‘ _Toxic masculinity and gender roles_ ,’ Dan would say. 

But I can’t clear my head, no matter how many times I shift in my seat, so I save the file I’ve been working on and decide to go find Dan. It’s about time we film another gaming video, anyway. Maybe this’ll get my mind off things.

I stand, shaking out the numbness in my legs and setting off in search of Dan. He’s not in the lounge or kitchen, leaving only his bedroom - unless he’s in the shower, but I can’t hear the water running, so I doubt it. 

“Dan?” I pause at his door, knocking twice and waiting - we’ve walked in on each other in pretty much every possible awkward situation imaginable, so knocking has become a very standard practice. I listen patiently, in case he’s got something to, ahem, _take care of_ , but there’s no sound from the other side after a few moments, and I knock again.

Still nothing.

“Hey, Dan, are you alright?” I know he needs space sometimes, but if he’s not here, then he might’ve gone out without telling me. That scares me, that I might not have recognized if he was having a bad day, or that I was too busy to notice. Before I can work myself up into a full-blown freakout, I turn the handle. It’s unlocked, and I push it open a few inches.

Dan’s sat on his bed, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. He’s also fully clothed, fortunately, and I try not to let my cheeks flush with the thought of what I might’ve walked in on if he wasn’t.

“Dan?” I try again, a little louder - he’s got headphones in, and seems to be watching something. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I creep closer, making less of an effort to be heard. I just catch the words ‘Crack vid’ on the screen before Dan nearly throws his laptop across the bed.

“Jesus _christ_ , fuck, Phil!” He’s trying to pull an earbud out and slam the lid shut simultaneously and failing a bit at both. I step back, trying not to grin at the red splotches on his cheeks. “What happened to _knocking_?” I know his indignation comes more from embarrassment than real anger - it’s rare we’re actually _mad_ at each other - but I feel bad anyway.

“I did! I promise, I just didn’t hear anything on the other side, and I was worried you’d gone out without telling me, and I just had to be sure, so I…” I gesture at the room, and his expression relaxes.

“Oh, oh, okay, that’s fine, sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he wiggles the headphones in the air, dangling from his hand now, then sets his laptop aside. “So, uh, what’s up?” There’s still an air of awkwardness between us, but I don’t question it - it’s rare for it to last long.

“I thought we could film another gaming video,” I shrug, “but if you’re busy?” It’s not a real question, and my English professors would be reprimanding me right now, but I don’t mind. I’ve never cared much for utilizing the rules - I like to _know_ them, but it’d be boring to follow them all the time.

"Oh, sure! No, not busy,” he shrugs. “I mean, _always_ busy,” I huff out a laugh - we have _way_ too much going on, “but y’know, that’s part of the job,” he smiles at me, a real genuine smile, and I match it. “Give me five?”

\-----------------------------

It takes him ten minutes, though I’m not exactly surprised. Dan’s a bit extra, but at least he knows it.

“So what are we playing today, Phil?” It’s his on-camera voice, a little more dramatic than usual - just barely - and I do my best not to fully smirk at him.

“Well…” I pull it up on the screen, the stupid Getting Over It game that had made him literally throw himself on the floor - _such a drama queen_ \- but so many people had requested it that we couldn’t really ignore it.

I nearly jump when his face is two inches from mine, eyes wide and lips pursed in an almost-frown. He blinks twice.

“We have to give the people what they want!” I argue before he can voice his annoyance. He blinks again, but his entire demeanor softens, and he leans back a bit.

“You twisted people, you just want to watch us suffer,” he squints at the camera, and there’s a strange edge to his voice I didn’t expect. Then he’s leaning fully across me, reaching for the mouse to drag it to his side and get the game started. His cheek is just about an inch from my lips, a fact I’m _really_ wishing I didn’t notice.

Then it’s gone, and we’re starting the game, but he’s still pressed up against my side, shoulder to elbow. I do not do well, though at least I can blame it on the obviously unachievable task of ‘getting over it’. _That is a very suspicious metaphor._ I frown, then try to play it off as general frustration. 

“ _Phil_ ,” whiny Dan again, “this is worse than the impossible quiz!” He’s just set our progress nearly back to the beginning, and he slams the mouse down hard on the table. “I give up, your turn,” he leans back in his chair, hands rubbing at his eyes in frustration. 

I chuckle and reach for the mouse, already prepared to fail just as miserably as he had. After two very unsuccessful swings, I hear the creak of Dan’s chair as he leans forward. When his chin rests on my shoulder - a decidedly _non_ -platonic move - I do my best to laugh it off.

“Since when are _you_ an announcement moose?” I shrug my shoulder until he lifts his head - the phans had loved the moose-massage, I’m sure I can satisfy Dan’s desperate need to for shippers’ attention _and_ prevent us from drifting into dangerous territory.

“What, you wouldn’t put your mouth on my ass?” Dan smirks at me, but I’m absolutely floored - that’s a whole other level of joking, even for us. Hell, _especially_ for us. He must realize it the moment our eyes lock, because his mouth goes wide and his cheeks flush a bright red. Then his head is buried in his arms on the desk, breaking the awkward moment.

And that’s all it takes for me to go from stunned to doubled over laughing - sure, my face is probably just as warm as his, but at least _I_ wasn’t the one who said the horribly embarrassing thing this time. 

“Shut _up_ ,” his voice is low, deadly serious, but I’m almost to the point of tears in my eyes. Because I know it’ll only make things worse - which, for me, means _a lot funnier_ \- I nudge him.

“Come on, we’ve got to finish filming,” it’s a setup, and he should know it, the way I go completely serious in just a few seconds. He lifts his head slowly, side-eyeing me, but he finally sits up fully - his face is still the color of a ripe tomato. I let a few seconds pass. “We’re definitely keeping that, you know,” I do my best to keep a straight face, but I want to burst out laughing at the ensuing dead silence.

“Well _obviously_ ,” is the only response I get, and then the dead silence is because of _me._ _We’re doing what now? Excuse me?_ I’d been completely joking, but now my fingers falter on the mouse, and I end up shooting us back in the game again. My heart is basically in my throat, and I’m terrified to look over at Dan - what if he’s actually _serious_? 

Instead of saying anything - could I even back out now, when I’d been the one to say we’d keep it? - I just clear my throat and try to make some progress.

\-------------------------------

Watching it back for the fifteenth time is no less terrifying than it was actually experiencing it, mostly because now I know that this is something we’re actually putting out on the internet - Dan is _fully_ serious. 

“Are you _sure_ , though? That you won’t regret it?” I’m afraid to lump myself into that statement, afraid to admit that _I_ might regret it. Dan shoots me a ‘ _yeah right_ ’ via glare, then his hand is over mine on the mouse and he’s clicking the upload button. I try to attribute the drop in my stomach to the fear of the overreaction we’ll get from the shippers.

\---------------------------------

I don’t even have to guess the reason behind the heavy footsteps when they come this time - nobody said a _word_ about Dan’s horrible joke, aside from the fact that they wanted the announcement moose to return. The perfect opportunity for a _lot_ of jokes, a _lot_ of relationship implications, and there was absolutely nothing.

“Yeah, I know,” I acknowledge before Dan can even get a word out. When I look up, his lips are parted like he’d been about to speak, so he lets out a heavy breath before collapsing on the sofa. And on me. 

“I figured it out,” his head is _actually_ in my lap and on top of my arms, making access to my keyboard entirely impossible, and he’s staring up at me with wide brown eyes. 

Because I’m too shocked to do anything else, I just blink. He must take it as encouragement to continue, but my mind has sort of gone up in flames. ‘Phil is _not_ on fire’ suddenly sounds like a very inaccurate video title. _What is he doing?_

“Well, it must look like we’re _trying_ , they must be able to see that, somehow,” I can see the whirring gears behind his eyes - _oh crap, am I still staring at his eyes? Is that weird?_ “So we just have to make it look more authentic,” his gaze refocuses, head shifting in my lap as he nods, like he’s confirming his theory.

“I’m- we’re, uh, wait- what?” I can’t manage anything other than random words, trying to pluck them out of the fire and make a coherent sentence. 

“Well we just have to practice more, of course. Make it look like what we’re doing for the camera is natural, they’ll eat it up!” He closes his eyes, squirming a bit as if he’s getting more comfortable. In my lap. _What is going on?_

“Uh, okay?” My chest is rising and falling too fast, and I hope Dan doesn’t notice. _Isn’t this what I wanted? Sort of?_ I mean, true, it had been _years_ ago that I’d wanted this, but I definitely miss the closeness we used to have. Even if it wasn’t a relationship.

“Besides,” his voice has gone soft, eyes still shut, and I let myself watch him, watch _his_ breathing - I try to sync mine up to it, and it calms me down. “It’s not like this is new for us, it’s just...been a while.”

\--------------------------

I don’t know why it floors me every time his hand brushes my arm, every time he leans on my shoulder, every time we’re pressed together on the sofa - none of it is _new_ , not really, and a lot of it isn’t even new _recently_. But it _feels_ different, like we’re doing something not allowed. I guess it hadn’t been allowed, not for a long time.

Even now, I’m just making some coffee, but Dan’s drifted so close - still with that sleepy, fuzzy look in his eyes - and he rests his chin on my shoulder. 

“Hurry up, you spork,” his voice is low and croaky - he just woke up - but it’s suddenly the only thing I want for the rest of my life: a sleepy Dan leaning on my shoulder and calling me silly nicknames that somehow stuck. A hysterical laugh bubbles up my chest - why is this something I want so bad, all of a sudden? - but I only let it out as a small chuckle. 

Just as I’m getting used to it, the warmth is gone, and Dan’s moved past me and onto the pantry, pulling out a box.

“Pour me some cereal?” 

\-----------------------------

Things only get more disconcerting as the day goes on - it’s an off day for us, nothing important going on and no videos we feel super obligated to film. Which is how we end up on the sofa, eating breakfast and doing our best not to slosh the bowls across our laps. 

And Dan is nearly on top of me. 

He’s technically sat _next to_ me, but his legs are propped up over my lap and he’s leaned against my side - it doesn’t look like the most comfortable position, but I’ve seen him twist himself in ways that look downright _painful_ and still not move for hours on end. I know better than to question it.

“Phil,” he mumbles around a bite of cereal. I glance over to find a smile tugging at his cheek, though he’s trying to chew and swallow first. “You’ve got…” he trails off with a soft giggle, shifting the bowl to his left hand so he can reach over. Then his thumb is on my lip, dragging across my chin as well, before he pulls away.

Then it’s in his _mouth_ , a little pop sounding when he pulls it out. It’s about this point I realize I’m fully screwed. Absolutely, totally, completely screwed.

“Uhm, I have..some work,” I eye my half-full bowl of cereal, but I’m not entirely sure I’m hungry anymore. Actually, not true, I _am_ , but not for food. Not for this kind of sugar. _God, I sound so cliche._ With a huff and an apologetic smile sent Dan’s way, I shove his legs off me and stand. The entire trip to the kitchen is in a haze; the clinking of the bowl landing a bit too heavily in the sink is the only thing that draws me out of my head.

“I thought we were having a day off?” Dan’s still propped up on the sofa, in almost exactly the same position he’d been in before I got up, and he’s pouting at me. Of _course_ he is. 

“I, uh, I forgot I have some editing to do, it really can’t wait,” I shrug, not entirely sure he’ll believe the lie. His frown a moment later confirms it, but he just turns back to the TV and digs into his cereal. Because I’m mostly just thinking _I need to get out of here right now_ on repeat, I descend the stairs toward my room. Without my laptop. Or anything on which I could edit.

But I’m already halfway downstairs, and it would be super suspicious to go back up now, plus Dan hasn’t actually _said_ anything, so maybe he didn’t notice...I make my way to my room and collapse onto the bed with a groan.

Just over a week of this fake-phan for the camera, and _less than twenty-four hours_ of the touchy-feely stuff, and I’m already falling head over heels - _again_ \- for Dan. The one person I can’t bear to ostracize. Couldn’t ever live without. I’d so successfully buried all that in a dark, hidden corner of my mind, and now his obsession with attention is dragging it all back out in the open.

A knock at my door makes me jump, lifting my head to see who’s there. It’s Dan - as if it could actually be anyone else - and I shove my face back into my duvet. 

“Thought you might need this, if you were, uh, editing,” a light weight drops beside me on the bed, then a much heavier one. “Do you, uh, want to talk about it?” He’s fallen into his soft voice, the one he usually saves for serious conversations. We don’t have many of those.

“No,” I mumble into the mattress. I’m sure my face is already bright red, with how warm it feels, and he doesn’t need to see that. I’ll just have to sort my head out for a bit, but it’ll be fine. He doesn’t have to know. We don’t need a repeat of 2012. 

“Okay,” I wait, expecting the creak of bedsprings and then of the door that would mean he’s leaving, but I count to thirty and it still hasn’t come. Then sixty. Then eighty, and I turn my head to peek over.

Dan’s just sat there, looking calm as ever, not particularly bothered by my reluctance to talk but clearly set on staying until I do - I know that ‘ _frustrated but not really_ ’ purse of his lips, the way his eyes land on me every few seconds but don’t stay long enough for eye contact. 

“You’re not leaving, are you.” It’s not a question, it doesn’t need an answer, but his lip curls in a smirk anyway. I groan into the duvet again. “Trust me, it’s nothing, okay?” The lie tastes salty on my tongue - I like sour things, it never made sense to me to say bad things taste sour - and I know the second the words are out that I’ve only made my situation worse.

“It’s never nothing, especially not when you say ‘it’s nothing’ like that,” the weight beside me shifts, and I realize he’s laid down beside me. Not touching, but close enough that I can feel his warmth. “Trust _me,_ ” he throws my words back, and I can hear the sardonic smile I know’s plastered on his face, “as someone who’s very experienced at ‘nothing’, it’s definitely not nothing.” 

We lay there in silence for a while longer, and I almost just say it - it’s hanging off the end of my tongue, begging to just be put out in the air between us. We’ve never been great at keeping secrets from each other, with the sole exception of _this_ , this one secret I keep buried deep down. Until recently. Now it’s about to jump off like my tongue’s a diving board.

“It’s about the shipping thing, isn’t it?” Dan speaks first, and my eyes widen. Into the pillow, but they widen. 

“Sorta,” I concede, hoping that will be enough to satisfy my jump-off-the-cliff desire to just _tell Dan how I feel, how I’ve felt for ages._

It doesn’t.

There’s a heavy sigh beside me, and I dare a peek from where my face is buried in the mattress: Dan’s laid there, like I expected, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t look particularly _anything_ \- not distressed or annoyed or mad or sad or happy or _any_ of those. Just...almost like a nod in facial-expression form.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed it so far,” then he does actually nod. “We can stop all the, uh, touchy stuff, if it makes you uncomfortable,” _now_ he sounds sad. But his face hides it well, no downward tugs at the corners of his lips. _No, that’s...not what I want._ I know it’s only gonna stoke the flames and probably make everything worse in my head, but I _definitely_ don’t want it to stop.

“No, I just...it’s fake?” I’m relying on our telepathy, the way we’ve always known what the other means, to make him get this. I want it, and I _really_ like this, but not if he’s only doing it because it’ll give shippers something to talk about. 

“We used to do it, you know,” he says, as if I’ve forgotten. As if I could literally _ever_ forget that we used to cling to each other all the time, touching just for the comfort of knowing the other was there. We’d put a hard stop to it, of course. Can’t have people making assumptions. _Bitter, that’s the word I should’ve used earlier._ These unsaid words taste bitter on my tongue, even as I swallow them back down.

“I know,” is all I get out. But at least my body is smarter than my mind, my mouth, because it reaches a hand out to twine with Dan’s. Another thing we used to do, simply because we could. Because it made us both smile.

“It’s not fake,” his voice is quiet, almost a whisper, and he gives my hand a quick squeeze. My heart also feels like it’s being squeezed in my chest. 

Without warning, he rolls over so he’s still lying beside me but much, much closer. His eyes are only a few inches away, close and wide and - only because I know that look so well, because I’ve seen it a thousand times - _scared_. Worried about my reaction, what I’ll think. I smile at him, though half of it’s still lost in the duvet.

“I missed this,” I admit, because it’s quiet and we’re admitting things right now. This seems safe enough, and I think Dan missed it too.

“Me too,” he’s also grinning now, and it’s easily the best thing I’ve seen in a while. Even better than that one baby sloth video. “We’re good?” I squeeze his hand and nod. 

My heart screams that _no, no we are not good! I actually love you, also, that’s something I should probably say!_ But I don’t get the chance, and he’s pulled away, sat up from the bed and already at the door.

“Come on, I paused the show, and you look like you could use some sugar. Or coffee. Or both,” he chuckles, and I listen to his footsteps as he climbs the stairs. Then I make a very Chewbacca-like sound into my duvet before pushing up off the bed to join him. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do about all this, but sugar and coffee sound like a good place to start.

\--------------------------

I wish I could say things got easier. I wish I could say I was able to shove all those repressed feelings back into their little hole and forget about them over the next couple days. But my birthday already passed, and I wished for a dog (and that didn’t happen either) so I get to just continue to deal with this new reality.

It’s like being thrown back to 2010, but with better internet. And Dan’s taller than me, now. Which doesn’t stop him from resting his head on my shoulder whenever we’re alone for more than a few minutes, or leaning against me in the back of a taxi, or holding my hand under the table during an important business meeting. 

In fact, he’s done all these things just this morning.

We’re finally walking out of a set design meeting that was meant to take an hour but took closer to two, and my hand feels cold now that Dan’s let go - let go, so we could stand, walk out of the room, and keep up the image that we aren’t drifting back to this touchy-feely stage from the beginning of our relationship. Not our _relationship_ , because that was never a thing, but our _friendship._ Our _best_ -friendship, I guess.

“So, what-” I’m interrupted when arms wrap around my shoulders and Dan buries his head in my neck, and my own arms return the gesture without thinking. _At least we’re still inside the building…_

“ _I can’t believe this is really happening,_ ” Dan’s voice is low and breathy, warm air brushing against my skin, and a smile creeps up to my face despite my rapid heart rate. 

“I know,” I squeeze him once, giving myself a moment to enjoy both the thrill of planning this crazy world tour and of having his arms around me. “You know I won’t let go first,” I say, finally, and he chuckles - it’s a pleasant rumble against my chest. “But aren’t you worried someone will see?” I hate that my voice takes a serious turn, that same serious turn it used to when we had first started to worry about the shippers. ‘ _Those who don’t learn from history,_ ’ and all that.

“We’re inside,” he mumbles into my shoulder, “and I’m too excited to care.” I’m back to grinning again, and - before I can let myself think too hard about it - I press a quick kiss to the top of his head. It feels...weird, but natural. And who ever said weird was a bad thing?

Then Dan pulls away, and I have no idea if it’s because of what I _said_ or what I _did._ Either way, his cheeks are flushed and I’m sure mine are too, and he’s turning toward the door before I can even begin to address whatever _thing_ just happened. _What if I’m the only one who thinks it was a thing, though?_

I only get to worry for about two minutes before we’re sat in the back of a taxi again, on the way home. Then I get to worry about whether or not I’d screwed everything up with that stupid, impulsive kiss. Dan’s leaned against the window, nowhere _near_ how close he’d been on the way here. I send a few nervous glances his way, but he’s dead set on the window.

_Maybe there’s a dog...running alongside the car…_

I manage to sit in a fidgety silence for most of the ride, but a few blocks from our flat, words bubble up in my chest and I can’t keep them down.

“I’m _sorry_ , I shouldn’t have done that, I wasn’t thinking, and we’ve been so... _you know_ lately and I just…” I trail off, the words burning on the tip of my tongue. Once again ready to jump off and into the air. _No, that would just make everything worse._

Dan’s head whips around, forehead creased and a frown tugging his lips down. There’s a scary moment of silence that stretches out, and I feel like I’m about to be snapped by a rubber band, my entire body tensing as I wait for a response.

“Phil,” _oh no, his serious voice_ , and he fixes a hard gaze on me, “I’m not mad.” _Oh._

“Oh,” I decide to say it aloud, trying to force my muscles to relax, my heart to calm down, my breathing to go back to normal. ‘ _Normal_ ’, as if _anything_ about this, or about us, has ever been normal. Then he heaves a sigh, which sends everything back to its previously anxious state.

“Maybe...maybe this was a bad idea,” his eyes have drifted to the black carpet by his feet. “ _This,_ I mean,” he glances up, gesturing between us. Now my eyes find the carpet.

“Oh,” it’s softer, but I try to nod as well. “Yeah, if it makes you uncomfortable, we shouldn’t-” 

“If…” he shakes his head, “Phil, _I’m_ the one who forced it, who made _you_ go along with it,” he’s insistent at first, but his tone deteriorates into something confused and question-like by the end of the sentence. I’m pretty sure our expressions are mirroring each other, now - scrunched brows and slight frown - until my lips part.

Then the taxi slows to a stop outside our building. I clamp my mouth shut, twisting my lips at Dan. He gives me a brief nod, then pays; we slide out and head up to our flat.

When the door slams closed behind us, it’s very loud. We’re both very quiet.

“You didn’t force me,” my voice breaks the silence. He freezes with a foot on the bottom step of the staircase, hand on the railing. I watch it turn white when he grips it tighter.

“Fine,” the hard edge of his tone has me frowning as I follow behind him. He’s taken to climbing two at a time, but I’m too confused to do anything more than the regular one-step process. “That doesn’t mean it’s fair to you,” now my brows rocket up my forehead, and he whirls around to face me. 

“Not _fair_? You fully lost me, Dan,” I make it to the top of the stairs, less than a foot from his now-flushed cheeks and rigid posture. His knuckles are still white at his sides, clenched into fists.

“Yeah, not fair,” his body releases all the tension at once, and everything droops. His lungs must droop, too, because he lets out a ‘ _I can’t deal with this_ ’ sigh before taking slow steps over to the sofa. When he collapses onto it, his head falls right into his hands, apparently too exhausted to even bother staying upright.

Very carefully, so I don’t startle him, lower myself onto the cushion beside him - close enough that he knows I’m here, but not so close that we’re touching. A bit like how he sat on my bed the other day. I stay quiet - this is a Dan who has things to say but isn’t quite ready to say them just yet.

_That’s okay, I can wait._

Long seconds go by, which evolve into minutes, and I’m starting to get restless; I have to send very strong commands to my leg to stop it from bouncing. But Dan’s still staring at the floor through his hands, absolutely silent, so I keep on waiting. For him, I could wait forever. 

I busy myself by staring - it’s a fantastic pastime, as I could never really get bored staring at Dan. Restless, anxious, enraptured, fond, any other range of emotions, but _never_ bored. _I wonder what it would feel like to run my hands through his hair, now that it’s all soft curls._ My fingers twitch, excited by the idea, but I reign them in; Dan’s head flies up at the same time, and I try not to jump back at the sudden movement.

“It’s not fair,” he repeats - though it’s been several minutes since he actually last said it - “because…” eyes lift to mine, finally, and I hold his gaze as long as he keeps it there. Which isn’t long, then it’s back to the floor. “ _Please don’t be mad_ ,” his soft, serious voice again, and I reach out on instinct.

“Never,” I say, because it’s true, and pull him into my chest. I’m not sure what has him worked up - the shippers? The lack of shipping? The kiss? Something else entirely? With Dan, it’s hard to say - but he needs support right now. He’s stiff against me, clearly not willing to just accept the hug, but I refuse to let go anyway. 

“I haven’t been...completely honest,” now he actually does pull back, arms folded across his stomach and hands clasping the crooks of his elbows. It’s a look I’ve seen before, but not in a while - I wonder what he’s worked up to be such a big deal that he’s this nervous to tell me.

“That’s okay,” I don’t reach out again, but I hope my words are encouraging enough. _It’s okay, you can talk to me, you can tell me anything, I promise I won’t be mad. I couldn’t ever really be mad at you._ Mostly, though, all I can think is ‘ _just tell me already!_ ’ I have to remind my leg that this is a _serious moment_ and it should not want to bounce.

“Remember how, like, way back when we met, and I asked if you had a crush on me?” _Oh_. My heart stops in my chest, and I swallow thickly. _So this is where we’re going, then._ I manage a nod, only because he’s staring, waiting for my reaction. I hope my eyes aren’t too wide, and I try to blink. That’s a normal-person thing to do. Blink, breathe, blink, breathe. Say words.

“And, I uh, said, no?” I don’t mean for it to sound like a question, but it definitely does. Now Dan nods.

“And then you asked me the same, and I said the same?” I try to fight back a frown - we’ve entirely blown past the part I thought he’d want to talk about: that I had very very blatantly lied to him. _Isn’t it obvious, how much I love you?_

“Yes,” I finally get out, when I remember I’m supposed to say things. Dan’s eyes are back on the floor, and he’s biting his lip like he used to. _Wow, we’re just flashing all the way back to 2009, aren’t we?_

“ _I lied_ ,” it’s barely a whisper. “That’s what I lied about,” louder. “What I’m _still_ lying about,” and quieter again, but I hear it. Brown eyes peek up from under thick eyelashes, the ones I think are so pretty but never wanted to mention aloud, because it’s never been my place. He’s never been mine to say that to.

I laugh. Loud. There’s nothing else I can do, nothing else that makes sense. And Dan looks horrifyingly startled, maybe a little offended, and then his lips tug down, he exhales, leans back. 

“No, no, I’m not-” I can’t get words out between giggles, because isn’t this just the perfect example of irony? That _I’d_ been lying to him all this time, keeping my own feelings under wraps, only to find he’s been doing the same? Some genuine Shakespearean nonsense, this is.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to-” his hand’s in the air, an attempted dismissal, and I can see the tears in his eyes. It’s immediately sobering.

“No,” I grab his hand, use it to drag him toward me, until he’s close enough that my other hand can reach around the back of his neck. I wait until he’s looking at me properly. “I’m not.”

I don’t actually know what our conversation is, what the words mean and how our responses actually fit, but I think we both understand, and it ends with me leaning forward; I give him time to pull away, if this is too much, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t, and then my lips are on his and it’s pretty much everything I hoped it would be, except we’re both sat at a very awkward angle on the couch which is suddenly becoming less comfortable by the second.

Fortunately, Dan pulls back first - a thing I’d never have thought I’d deem ‘fortunate’ - and grins at me. I don’t know why I’m shocked when he _has_ to bring it back to the phans.

“Fucking shippers, they’d have a _field day_ if they found out this was all their fault.”


End file.
